


sweet birthday baby

by lalalyds2



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, five times it's not Hilda's birthday and one time it is, happy birthday friend!!, honestly this is quite soft just sayin'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: Hilda likes summer birthdays. Doesn't have one.Sometimes she pretends anyway, much to Zelda's chagrin.-OR-Hilda pretends it's her birthday five times, and one time she doesn't have to.





	sweet birthday baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UbiquitousMixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/gifts).

> a happy, happy birthday to our fearless Spellcest leader, the smut queen extraordinaire, the truly lovely and marvelous human being - Danielle!  
i hope you have an absolutely wonderful day, people treat you like the empress you are, and you get some birthday cake!  
thanks for being as kind as you are, it shows and impacts <3

Hilda has a fascination with summer birthdays.

There’s something magic about cake and watermelon on a sweltering hot day.

Lemonade in sweating glass. Grass stains on a best dress.

It’s something other to see wind blowing on gold wheat stalks, bending along to blown out candles. Nature herself bowing to the special day and song.

Hilda does not have a summer birthday.

Hers is in February, Zelda’s in December.

Edward just had his a month ago.

She turned seven last time, Zelda, turned nine, and Edward stayed old.

He’d gotten books and potion ingredients and a pocket watch on a gold chain and leather shoes and a telescope and a hat with a large brim.

And, of course, cake.

It’s not the _stuff_ that Hilda loves about birthdays, it’s something else. She’s not sure what, but she knows she likes them.

And she’s itching for another one.

“What if it was my birthday?” She asks her big sister, hopping on a fallen log as they walk through the forest.

“It’s August.” Zelda’s frown encapsulates a sigh and a snark all at once. “It’s nowhere even close.”

This is the fifth time Hilda’s mooned on about another birthday, and logic simply won’t stick.

It’s enough to drive any sister mad.

“Yeah, but what if it was?”

Hilda’s arms stretch out as she balances, feet kicking pine needles and fallen leaves onto Zelda’s shoes.

Zelda’s scowl deepens.

“It’s not. Stop talking about it.”

“You’d have to be extra nice to me, then.”

Hilda ignores Zelda’s growing ire, oblivious to everything except her wishful fancy.

“I’d get to choose dollies first, and you’d have to do my chores, and we’d do what _I_ want to do.”

“Yeah, but it’s _not_ your birthday, so be quiet.”

“We’d play games.”

“Hilda.”

“And stay up late.”

“_Stop_.”

“And have cake!”

“Are you done?”

“I think I’d want vanilla.”

In her excitement (and because she’s tilting), Hilda accidentally whacks Zelda in the face.

Zelda purposefully shoves Hilda off the log.

Quick like a bunny, strong like a bear. Hilda is on the ground, bum on the grass and mouth wide open.

It’s hilarious revenge, for a second.

But then she sees (and it’s just Zelda’s luck) Hilda’s elbow has landed straight on a rock.

Funny bone in quite a bit of pain.

Hilda’s wail is delayed, but shrill.

And rightly so.

Zelda can see the skin already beginning to swell, red like a berry and angry like a hornet. It’s going to be black and blue for weeks and will hurt for nearly as long.

She drops to her knees, arms wrapping around Hilda’s sob-wracked frame, shushing her and desperately willing her not to run to mother.

“I didn’t know that rock would be there,” She says in lieu of an apology. “But you _were_ being awfully annoying.”

Surprisingly, it does nothing to stop Hilda’s tears.

Zelda clutches her tighter, kisses her cheek because she knows Hilda likes it, decides to make the ultimate sacrifice.

“Hildie, let’s pretend it’s your birthday today.”

“Really?”

Tears halt quite suddenly.

“Really.”

“The whole day?”

She already regrets this.

“Yes.”

But then Hilda’s beaming, and her chest grows lighter from the forgiveness, and her hug is finally reciprocated which feels quite nice.

Hilda gets up, and they pretend for the whole day.

Zelda is nice to her, doesn’t even roll her eyes once, and Hilda gets to be the boss.

She gets to play princess and Zelda makes them a tea party and Hilda gets to choose which doll sits next to her and what they’re going to do next. They play outside for the rest of it, pretending to cast spells and defeat dragons and conquer the world.

They stay up until the fireflies come out to dance, catching insect stars on excited palms.

Hilda holds Zelda’s hand when they finally walk back to the house.

All in all, Hilda’s fake birthday is a rather nice day.

~*~

Every summer, Hilda tries to get another pretend birthday.

Sometimes it works (though often Hilda will have to suffer some bruises first), but sometimes it doesn’t.

As much as she doesn’t mind those days, Zelda makes sure they don’t happen very often.

After all, _she_ is the boss.

All the time.

It’s crystal clear.

But one summer, when Hilda is thirteen and Zelda is fifteen (and counting down the days till she’s old enough for her Dark Baptism), their grandmother comes to visit.

She stays for too long, too short a time.

Her magic is fading, and with it her life force.

She barely remembers any of them.

It makes them sad.

It makes her scary.

She is not kind when she doesn’t recognize.

On one of her last lucid days, she recognizes Hilda, says it’s her birthday. Thinks she’s going to turn sixteen.

Maybe she thinks she’s Zelda, but Hilda doesn’t dare correct her.

Grandmother has her close the door, for she has secrets to tell her.

Hilda’s eyes are alarmed and beseeching when she does, clear distress when she meets Zelda’s gaze.

She only sees jealousy back.

Closes the door to it.

Internally seething and chastising herself for it, Zelda presses her ear to the wood and tries to make out grandmother’s sudden secrets.

She doesn’t hear anything but her own thundering heart.

Hilda comes out a while later, Zelda nearly tumbling into her as she makes her escape.

Hilda’s sullen and withdrawn. 

No longer asks for half birthdays, doesn’t look at magic the same way, and tries to skip Black Mass.

She won’t tell Zelda why.

Zelda wheedles and rants and rails, but Hilda keeps their grandmother’s secrets, and quietly they both despair.

Zelda resorts to spying.

Hilda keeps her secrets.

So Zelda keeps secrets.

They drift like islands, separating slowly and hidden by deep water.

But by the time Zelda turns sixteen, they are already worlds apart.

~*~

When Hilda is eighteen and the sun is shining and the bees are buzzing and her friends from the academy are visiting her during summer holiday, she pretends a birthday again.

In actuality, she’s just trying to lie.

Teen hormone runs rampant, the past living room alcohol run successful, and the boys are running their mouths that they can hold their liquor better than the girls.

So they’re playing two truths and a lie. Or maybe they’re playing just to strip and drink.

Or maybe it’s both.

Either way, Hilda’s a sipful away from tipsy, and lie away from losing her shirt.

She’s excellent at sussing out untruths, absolutely terrible at selling them herself.

“New challenge.” Jenny sways as she stands, pale pink slip clinging to graceful thighs, a hiccup halfway up her swan throat.

“Next person who accurately guesses my lie has to kiss me. If wrong, they have to take a shot.”

Hilda stares at her friend’s flushed cheeks, how the sun glistens on her smooth forehead.

Hilda’s brow furrows as she tries very hard to guess the correct lie.

She grins victorious when she does.

Jenny’s face is warm and soft in her palm, lips already puckered and eager. Hilda leans closer, closes her eyes, and—

“My, my, _someone’s_ been having fun without me.”

The dry, sardonic tone has Hilda’s eyes flying open, pursed lips bursting into a smile, bolting up like wood on fire.

“Zelds, welcome back! I didn’t think you’d be home till tomorrow.”

Her eyes drink in her older sister’s form, swaying tipsily on the crisp pressed dress, the cheetah print scarf, the elegant pinned up curls.

“You look good.”

“And you, sister,” Zelda’s mouth stays downturned. “Look drunk.”

Hilda just bends forward conspiratorially, because there’s humor in Zelda’s gaze.

“We’re playing a game. I’m winning.”

“That last guess was just luck.” One of her friends pipes up.

Hilda looks at Jenny, catches the lingering blush.

“Nope.”

At that, Zelda sits down in all her traveling finery, not a bit worried at the grass or dirt that will surely get on her clothes.

“I’m playing. Hand me a bottle.”

Hilda does so shyly, as though she’s never seen her sister drink before, as if they haven’t done this before, as though she doesn’t purposefully linger when their fingers brush on the smooth glass.

Their knees touch as Hilda sits down.

They stay touching as she wiggles to get comfortable.

“Okay Hilda,” Jenny says, pouting at her lost attention and desperately trying to bring it back around. “Your turn. Give us your clues and get kissed.”

“That’s only if you guess right.” Hilda grows bold again, remembers the alcohol she’s imbibed, is able to wink at her pink cheeked friend.

Is still only able to feel Zelda’s eyes on her, resting intense on the side of her face.

“Okay, two truths and a lie. One, I keep bees. Two, it’s my birthday. Three, I keep a severed hand in a jar in my room.”

The boys and girls all pick number three, unable to picture Hilda keeping something as gory as a glory hand.

They all take a shot.

And then it’s Zelda’s turn, and Hilda knows she’s had.

It’s nowhere close to her birthday, and she’s going to have to kiss her sister.

She looks at Zelda’s face, is suddenly struck with a need.

Zelda is looking at her, eyes so indecipherably blue, and Hilda knows.

The need is nothing new.

It’s just particularly strong today.

She leans in. Zelda leans in.

Zelda smells like sunshine and grass and French perfume, it invades Hilda’s senses.

Headier than intoxication, more luscious than sin.

She wonders what Zelda’s going to taste like.

Zelda licks her lips; she follows the movement.

And _oh,_ this is unexpected.

There’s desire in her sister too.

And then Zelda pulls back, something shuttering closed in her gaze.

There’s a flush tinting her cheeks pale pink, like sakura in the spring. 

She is prettier than Jenny, and she doesn’t want to kiss Hilda. 

That’s just the way it is.

“Number one is the lie. You don’t keep bees.”

Hilda’s heart sinks to the bottom of the earth.

“No, sister. That’s true.”

Zelda takes a shot.

Hilda mourns as she watches that alabaster throat clench.

Her friends cry outrage.

“You said it was your birthday last time,” Jenny’s pout is full on tantrum. “We _believed _you.”

Hilda’s shrug is indifferent and lax.

“It’s not my birthday.”

And it no longer feels like it.

~*~

It’s a summer night in England when she tries a birthday on again.

There’s a party quite literally with her name on it, but it’s for a birthday girl.

She sees no problem in a white lie, whatever it takes to hop a long queue.

The music is lively, her drink tastes like honey, and she has no shortage of dance partners.

Her feet tire as the band croons out slower songs. It’s been a long night, a good night, and she’d rather end on a high note.

She’s about to step off the floor when two black-tipped hands pull her by the hips and spin her around.

The face staring back at hers is predatory and familiar. 

“Zelds?”

Blood red lips pulled to a grin, Zelda tugs her close, does a slow step waltz, leans in to whisper:

“Haven’t you learned your lesson about fake summer birthdays?”

Hot wind on the ear, Hilda shivers and tries to pull away.

“I just wanted to dance for a bit. How did you get in?”

Zelda tugs her in again, iron grip on her hipbones.

They press close together, like stacked china or book pages.

Zelda’s body is so warm on hers, molten grace as she leads their swaying. 

“I know people.”

Zelda’s breath smells of amber liquor, nose tip hot and tickling on Hilda’s curls.

“I think it’s time for us both to go home,” Hilda says, trying to maneuver them apart and off the dance floor.

Zelda just shakes her head, their bodies lithe and seamless in slow three-quarter time.

“Let’s pretend, just for a while.”

Hilda doesn’t understand.

Zelda keeps far too many secrets now.

But they stay, till the last call is made, and they walk the brick street hand in hand till they reach Zelda’s flat.

She pulls Hilda in.

“I wanted to kiss you then,” She says on the couch, moonlight hitting through the slats of her window, bathing them both in sacred pause—two a.m. and alcohol letting the tongue loosen and bare candor slip through. “You knew that, right?”

“I didn’t.” 

Zelda leans in. She leans back. 

Wraps a blanket around her sister’s shoulders and leads her to bed. 

Makes an excuse about a swimming head and bar crawl breath. 

Eyes soft and yearning, yet steely in their resolve. 

She won’t take something that isn’t real. 

If they fall in now, they won’t be sisters sharing love, they’ll be two strangers kissing in the dark. 

She wouldn’t be able to bear that. 

Hilda stays until Zelda’s asleep.

She’s gone in the morning.

~*~

It’s summer and the sisters are together, and they’re raising an eight-year old Sabrina.

The little girl’s birthday is November, but she claims half-birthdays are a thing, and _Roz _got one, so _she _should get one.

Hilda can’t argue with that logic.

Zelda can.

Hilda won’t let her.

Instead, they all celebrate their half birthdays, hunkering down in the parlor watching musicals and eating regular cake (Zelda had allowed the red velvet, but vetoed the candles).

When they go to bed, it’s Zelda and Hilda together, Sabrina tucked tight between them.

If she noticed the hands held during the day, the decidedly gentle looks being shared above her, the close cozy in the night—well, she doesn’t say so.

But if she _did_ notice, she probably wouldn’t mind.

She’s used to it.

It happens all the time.

~*~

It’s February 17th, and Hilda wakes to a dark room and cloud-breath air and Zelda curled up next to her.

There’s a bit of dull fuzzing in her head, the day hasn’t hit yet, and then it does.

She yawns before she smiles.

There’s a twitch beside her, then a rustling, then aquamarine eyes are staring at her hazels in the shadowing morning.

“Happy Birthday, Hildie.”

Her grin is met with cold lips, soft and sleepy on hers.

“Morning, Zelds.”

An arm flings over Hilda’s rib cage, warm and possessive.

A much colder nose presses on her jugular.

She giggles and makes no effort to break free.

“Are you going to make me breakfast?”

The answering hum is noncommittal.

The kiss on her throat makes her shiver.

“Zelda.”

Breath goes breezy as her neckline is licked.

But she’s not to be deterred.

“Breakfast, Zelds. _Someone’s_ got to make it.”

Zelda’s groan against her skin is honestly quite fetching.

“Hilda, I just woke up.”

“And so will Ambrose and Sabrina soon.”

“They can wait.”

“I don’t want them to.”

Though the kisses on her collarbone might convince her otherwise.

And that wandering hand.

It’s still so cold.

“Zelda...”

“You’re so bossy.”

Spoken between the valley of her breasts.

Zelda’s head a lump under the covers.

“Well it _is_ my birthday.”

“If you’re going to be this insufferable all day—”

“Be _nice_ to me—I’m old and I’m cold. And the children have school still—Satan, how I miss summer, and—”

Zelda’s head pops up from under the comforter, stopping Hilda’s sleepy ramble by kissing her.

Quite soundly.

She whispers her teases between lazy lip touches. 

“Sweet… Birthday baby… _Hush_. I can make it feel like summer again.”

“What?”

And then Zelda’s head is back down, being a lump under blankets.

The lump moves lower.

Lower still.

Suddenly, Hilda is so very warm.

Then—

“Oh, happy birthday to _me_.”


End file.
